Angels on the Moon  A Hetalia
by kaoriotinashi154
Summary: Russia has stolen the country from benieth her feet?  Can they overcome this fact?  RussiaxOC
1. Chapter 1

My country, my pride, had been stolen from me. Wonderland no longer belonged to me. I was virtually extinct, held captive by the man that I'd come to hate the most. The man looked innocent enough, violet eyes that captivated you, a sweet smile, light hair that sagged slightly in front of his face. His appearance was all an illusion. He'd ground my country to dust. I despised him.

Yet here I was, stuck with him. His captive.

I had yet to speak a word to him. He rarely attempted to speak to me. Come to think of it, the only time he ever attempted to start a conversation with me was when he brought in my dinner. The rest of the time I pretty much never saw him.

I mostly spent my time, sitting around twiddling my thumbs and missing what I couldn't have. I wanted a book, a song, ANYTHING that could bring a sense of normalcy back to my life. I wanted to rock out to Blood on the Dance Floor. I wanted to read a new book. I wanted to write my feelings down on a stupid piece of paper.

I heard the door opened. "Good evening, Ramneet." I snarled my nose at the sound of my name. I hated when he talked to me as though we were friends.

Damn that Russian bastard.

He set down a plate of fish, carrots, broccoli, bread, and water. He sat on a stool and ate a bowl of borscht and chewed on a clump of bread, smaller than mine. When he was finished, he just sat there and waited for me to complete a meal I had yet to touch. I'd known from the last several days that he would just sit there and wait for me to complete my meal, no matter how long it took me to give in and eat. I glared at the empty wall space for twenty silent, agonizing minutes. I could feel him staring at me.

"You're being difficult," he said. "If you eat, I'll go away."

I balled my hands into fists, and gritted my teeth.

After a few more minutes, I ate my dinner. His hand suddenly reached in front of me, and I yelped, flinching away from it. The hand grabbed my plate. I listened to his footsteps fade as he walked away from the room.

I shrieked in frustration, throwing myself on my mattress and buried my face in my pillow, beating my mattress wit my fists. My frustration with myself grew every day. I would _not _be afraid of him, I would _not _be afraid of him, I would _not _be afraid of him. Never again. Of course, no matter how many times I told myself this, it changed nothing. I feared him. He'd crushed my country.

He'd taken everything from me.

… I would be his prisoner forever...

I felt a tear stream down my face. I hated crying, it made me feel like an idiot. It didn't ever help anything, it wouldn't change my situation.

I needed to get out of this room, but I knew I couldn't. Not because the door was locked, which it wasn't. Not because I was injured, which I wasn't. But because _he _was out there.

The gray door opened and I jumped, hearing myself gasp. He dropped a box onto the floor next to the door, then looked up at me. "они принадлежат к вам."

For a long time, over an hour, I paced the room, wondering. Look in the box. Don't look in the box. Look in the box. Don't look in the box.

Look in the box.

I peeked over the top. In the box were my notebooks, my pencil case, my books, my CDs, my stereo. Everything that had once defined who I was. Even a large sum of my clothes were tucked inside the large cardboard box.

Grabbing a set of clothes, I peeked out of the door, looking both ways to assure that I would not run into the Russian again. When I was sure that he wasn't coming back, I rushed quickly down the hall and entered the bathroom. I showered, and dressed in a Tokio Hotel T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans.

I ran back to the room, and put a CD in the stereo. After a bit of rummaging, I found my ear buds. I turned the music as loud as my ears could handle and grabbed a random book from the box. Cut by Patricia McCormick.

My eyes blurred. I closed them and felt the salty liquid escape between my eyelashes. Everything just felt so normal for the first time since I'd been here.

He was being nice.

Why?


	2. Chapter 2

The Russian didn't come in the next day. Other people brought me my meals and left them in the room. No one said anything about the fact that I didn't eat any of my meals. They merely brought in a bowl of new food, and took out a bowl of old food. I never said a word to any one. Lithuania was the only one that spoke to me all day.

He brought me my food and waited for me to eat it. While waiting, he told me stories of his country. He told me about when the Nazi's occupied his country, and by time he finished telling me about when he was accepted into NATO, he had realized that I had yet to set a finger on my food.

"Ramneet?" he asked.

I looked down. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I toyed with my fork, avoiding eye contact with the other country. Eye contact could be a dangerous thing. Sometimes, my eyes would reveal things I felt no matter how hard I tried to conceal it.

"Ramneet, why aren't you eating?" he asked. He tried to move in front of my face, but I dodged his looks. Eventually, my glare made him stop his attempts. "Eat your dinner."

I shook my head.

"Please?"

I sighed and shook my head again, fast enough to shake my highlighted bangs loose from their bobby pins. One of my bowed pins fell on the floor. I ignored it.

"Just a little?" he begged.

I played with my food a bit. His eyes were burning into my skull. Eventually, I gave in and took the first bite. I didn't realize how hungry I was. I ate the entire plate of food and drank all of my water.

When I put the plate in his hand, he gently grabbed my wrist and unfolded my fingers. A small piece of fabric attached metal touch my palm. Before realizing what I was doing I clamped my fingers down and yanked my wrist from his grasp. In my hand lay my cotton candy blue ribbon. I pinned it back above the light pink ribbon and made sure all of the streaks of pink, blue, and blonde were held away from my eyes.

He didn't leave. I played with the plastic tip on the end of my shoelace and listened to his stories. After five stories, I didn't hear his words anymore, only the slight mumble of his voice rang in my semi-consciousness. Before I completely slipped into unconsciousness, I wondered things, unimportant things. Little things. Where was the Russian. Had he given up on me? Would he come again? Why did I care?

All of the other words that came later in my mind were completely incoherent and unimportant.

When I awoke, it was late in the night. Lithuania had fallen asleep in the wooden chair in the corner of my cell. I knew if I stepped up to the window, I would see the dark sky contrasting against the deep snow freshly dusted upon the ground as I had many a night before.

A voice hummed from outside of the room.

When I was brought here, I gave myself one rule. Do not FOLLOW the voice of the Russian. If you FOLLOW the voice of the Russian, you will, oh, I dunno, FIND the Russian. My exhausted brain apparently did not understand the purpose of this rule, did not grasp that I wanted nothing to do with him. Alas... I opened the door. I exited the room, peeked around the corner that led to a great, long hallway. The Russian was down the hall. I crept farther down the path and came to a door. The Russian was speaking to another country on a telephone. I wanted to hear the conversation, but I did not want the Russian to catch me spying on him. I wandered the hall, looking left and right for a phone, any phone. I saw in an opened door a phone with a little red light blinking on it.

When I stepped over the threshold, I immediately heard a creak. My entire body tensed up and I held my breath. After standing in silence for a moment, I walked to the phone. I made sure that the mouth piece was covered, and I pressed the button.

"–Ramneet upset with me?" asked the Russian. He sounded genuinely concerned. His concern was a lie. He didn't care about what I thought. He didn't care about me at all.

"Maybe that's because you stole her country from her," said a British accent. "It's not exactly like that's going to win over a woman's heart, you know." I could hear the slight shake in the English mans voice. Arthur. I knew Arthur. We had a slight tendency to make fun of America together, but our friendship didn't go far beyond that. In fact, Alfred was the only reason we'd ever stayed in the same room for more than ten seconds. "Did you give back her things as I suggested?"

"Of course I did," the Russian said. "Why is she mad? I don't understand."

Yeah, I thought. Sure he doesn't.

"Well, did she say anything?" I could hear in Arthur voice, the things he wanted to call him. Twit? Ignoramus? Moron? Wanker, perhaps?

"No, she didn't speak to me, or even Lithuania."

He didn't understand? Villages– colonies– towns– CITIES of my people were now under his control, and he couldn't grasp, couldn't pull enough knowledge out of his brain to realize why I was angry? No. No, he was just a liar. A lying, country-stealing scum bag who probably got entertainment out of messing with peoples heads and making them fear him as much as possible.

...Didn't understand... Bullshit...

"Well... maybe, since you gave her some space today, you'll get her to speak to you in the morning," Arthur said, cautious not to sound impatient with the more ignorant country, being careful not to say anything that would start yet another war.

"I hope it works," the Russian said. "I'll update you tomorrow. I'm going to check on her."

I pushed the red button to disconnect my line on the call, thrust the phone onto the holster, and ran quickly down the long line of hallways, stopping only to panic and make sure I was going the right direction. When I made it back to the room I slammed the door and jumped into the bed, facing the wall, listening for some sort of sign that another human being was entering the room. I looked over my shoulder only once, in a moment of ignorance, to see Lithuania staring back at me.

The telltale click of the nob sounded, telling me that someone was on the other side. I slammed my head back on the pillow just as the door shut.

"You're still in here?" the Russian asked.

"Yes, I just woke up," said Lithuania's voice. "I was about to leave."

"Is she sleeping soundly?"

"Yes. She fell asleep a long time ago."

After a few other questions, the conversation moved outside of the door, and a few minutes later faded down the hall.

The only thing I thought before inevitably falling back into my slumber was, _Thank God for Lithuania._


	3. Chapter 3

I must appologize for this story is being put on hiatus. I am having some trouble coming up with plot points to get my story from point a to point b. I also need to find a way to flesh out my protagonist more. She comes across, (to me anyways) as a bit of a sue ^^' I'm VERRY Sorry for waisting your time on a story that may never be finished, but I need some time to figure it out.

If you have any questions, feel free to send me a message.


End file.
